To Pass The Time
by Ilyana Takatori
Summary: Summer. Basketball. Weiss Boys. It's that simple.


Weiss Boys. Playing basketball. I know, things in my life cannot get any mroe ridiculous, so I hope this is only the apex of silliness and I can make my way back down the mountain again.   
Title: To Pass the Time ( I don't like that very much, so tell me if you have any better ideas)  
Was going to be a slash. Never really got there. How surprising. Enjoy!  
  
~*~  
  
  
It was hot, and increasingly so. It wasn't even his idea to be out here, cradling a basketball in his arms, while also juggling two waterbottles in the practically desert heat of summer on an asphalt basketball court.   
"Where is he?" The brown haired boy muttered, adding some more colorful questions under his breath. The fact that he had to wait for that little, genki punk was getting rather ridiculous.   
But then, just as his musings were becoming belligerent, a voice carried itself on the wind, and caught his ears.   
"Ken!" The voice called, and Ken was relieved to see that the punk in question was far away and was giving him time to cool off his temper. He rose his hand to wave, but, as the basketball fell to the ground and the water bottles crashed along with it, his hand froze.  
Omi had brought Aya, too?  
Yes, even from so far away Ken could easily pick out the two figures. One small, bouncing excitedly, and waving furiously for his attention, while the other was tall, slender, and not making much movement besides walking. Not to mention the taller one's hair was just about the color Ken felt the world must have been at the time.  
Red.   
"Well, finally, you show up," Ken said once the two had met up with him, shoving Omi playfully, while the youngest of the trio frowned.   
"Where's the ball?" He asked, eyeing Ken scornfully, brushing blond hair out of his view.   
"Is this it?" A soft, deep voice interrupted the others search, and the two spun around to see Aya, a look of deep consternation on his face, holding the rubber ball in question.   
Omi grinned, " That's it, Aya. Sure you're up for these mad skills I've got?" He pointed proudly to his chest, and Ken rolled his eyes just before the kid pushed him over.   
"It takes skill to throw a ball?" The red haired assassin interrupted once again.  
Omi sighed in exasperation, " Well, if you would give me the ball, I could show you."   
"C'mon, Aya," Ken grinned, " let's give this rooky a chance to show us his mad skills, eh?"   
At that, Aya lithely shrugged, and swung his arm to effortlessly toss the ball into the air. Eagerly, Omi caught it, and motioned for them to follow him in his trek across the burning surface of the earth, to a lone basketball hoop.   
Once there, Omi motioned for silence, and, all the while grinning like there was no tomorrow, jumped up from the ground, and hung motionless for the briefest of moments.  
Swish, went the ball through the net, and only silence greeted the solemn beats of the ball as it collided with the pavement again.   
"That's a three pointer, by the way," Omi said, not even bothering to look at the others in their shock.  
"Looks stupid," Ken muttered, his feet nervously shuffling.  
"And you think soccer looks better?" Aya asked quietly, walking up to stand beside him.  
Shocked, Ken looked up at the silent man and immediately felt something even warmer then the heat brushing his face.   
Omi laughed outright, stooping to pick up the ball that had finally rolled back to him,   
"He's got a point there, Ken," He said sagely.  
"Oh, shutup!" Ken called, " I can play this stupid game as well as I play soccer. You're going to get the beating of your life, Omi, so just go home now before those mad skills of yours get shown up!"   
And with that, Ken marched right up to a rather surprised Omi and grabbed the ball away, making an attempt to sneer.   
Omi did it better, " Bring it on, Ken!"   
And with that, the game began. And what a game it was.   
Ken knew more about basketball then he let on, dribbling and shooting and playing a better one-on-one game then Omi had expected. But the punk wasn't done just yet, he had his resources up his sleeve. . .  
"Aya!" Omi cried, moving swiftly around a charging Ken to toss the ball behind his back to a very thoughtful looking Aya.   
"Hey, that's not fair, the teams uneven now!" Ken stopped his wacking barrage on Omi's head, standing up straight, " how can I fight both of you?"   
"You can't," Omi laughed madly, jogging over to Aya, saying to the older man, " just like we practiced, ok?"   
Aya nodded, and a small smile crept up to his lips. It wasn't exactly a pleasent smile, either.   
Ken's mouth fell open as he numbly pointed to the others; one an evil nimph and the other a silent turncoat!   
"You planned this?" The brunnete asked, bewildered.   
Omi only nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, " Just to get you back for all those soccer games."   
Suddenly, Ken remembered all the times he had totally kicked Omi's hind in soccer, and the boy groaned. Vengeance, this time, would not be swift.  
And so, another game was persued. The game of kicking Ken's rear end just for the heck of it.   
Ah, what a game it was.   
Ken, digging around for his morale that had sunk deep within the soles of his shoes, did the best he could. Stealing the ball and shooting it a few times let the others know he truly was a formidable opponent, but it was still a two against one game. Not to mention Aya was a giant compared to the short but defiant Ken. And Omi was small enough to crawl through your legs while having enough skill to continue dribbling the ball.   
Ken was simply caught in the middle.   
Until. . .   
"What the heck are you people doing?" An incredulous voice interupted a particularly vicious assualt of Aya's legs. Ken thought he could drag him down. . .  
Omi looked up, his mouth agape, Aya dropped the ball, Ken ceased in his futile mission to drag Aya down, and all three looked into one shocked and disgusted pair of jade eyes.   
"Youji!" Ken cried in shock, " how'd you find us?"   
The eldest of the assasination crew snorted, pointing behind him to the car Omi had driven, " It's not too hard spotting a piece of junk like that on the street."   
"Hey!" Omi protested, sounding genuinely hurt.   
Aya shook his head in absolute indifference to the car, but instead asked a simple question that took everyone else by storm, " Are you going to play or not?"  
Omi and Ken looked sharply at Aya, both in shock, and then turned their attention back to a now silenced play boy.   
Youji looked speculative, then. . .  
"Gimme the ball."  
With a cry of relief and hope, Ken scrammbled off the ground to retrieve the dropped ball, and, with a grin to match Omi's, passed the ball to Youji.   
The man caught it uncertainly, shifting it in his hands for a moment, a far off look in his eyes. Car traffic could be heard in the distance, and the mirage of steam from the asphalt made them shimmer like dreams in an exotic world of heat and color.   
And, as a panther strikes so suddenly, Youji moved. Ken moved with him.   
Finally, the game was fair, rough, and real. Catcalls and mudslinging allowed, the boys were boys as they clashed together for the fight of a lifetime spent in one waning evening.   
Youji was a formidable player, like Ken, not letting on too much about his basketball history. But while Ken was a good player, Youji was a better critic. Omi's face was a coallision of disgust, rage, shock, and all out laughter from what spilt out of Youji's mouth in reference to just about anything. Shooting, dribbling, passing, walking, you name it, Youji could find something interesting to say about it. Even Aya's face lit up a few times. . .  
Aya had adavantage in his height. Omi could throw over the heads of the opposition and Aya could catch it, aim it, swing it, in a flawless, deft movement that required no more jump then to get on his tip-toes. Omi could jump like a kangaroo, thus giving him shooting points all around the court, while Youji and Ken kept together for added strength and double the effort.  
All in all, it was Clash of the Titans on asphalt.   
  
As the sun dipped down behind the trees, just like a basketball falling slowly to it's goal, the boys found their strength waning and their spirits growing.   
All four collapsed in the shadow of the hoop, panting, gasping for lack of air. Calloused hands wiped away sweat from weary faces, all eyes alight with a rush of exhaustion verses adrenaline.   
Then, slowly, the breathing went back to normal, the cool of twilight whispered forth from the wind, and a darkening sky heralded silence.   
Until. . .  
"Who won?" Youji asked. All eyes blinked in question, then Omi's cerrulean blue was met by another grin.   
"We did, by far," He said cassualy.   
Ken scoffed, " Yeah, right, I totally wooped you, Omi. Again."   
"I concure," Youji piped up with Ken while lighting a ciggarette.  
Aya shook his head, looking rather ruffled for his calm reply, " No. I know who won."   
Omi, Youji, and Ken looked up to the still figure of the read head. They waited. . .  
"It was Omi and I."  
Youji and Ken exploded, both standing to their feet while Omi cheered in triumph.   
"You were keeping score through that entire game? Yeah right!" Youji cried angrily, yanking a hysterical Omi into his arms to gag the sounds of cheer and joy spilling forth from the punk.   
Ken sighed, " The world may never know."  
Aya simply grinned.   
  
And thus. . . chaos and life ensues, as ussual.  
The moral to this story?   
Play basketball. Enjoy life. 


End file.
